June in August (3 page)

I opened the cupboard door next to the sink, pulled down a glass, poured myself some tea, and then went to check out the back yard.

The grass in the back was every bit as brown and dry as the grass in the front. Wiley had begun to lay a brick patio to the right of the door and there was a grill in the corner. The former vegetable garden was overgrown with weeds and several of the pickets of the surrounding fence were missing, or broken. The old magnolia was still there though, as grand as always. Hanging from one of the thick lower branches was a white wicker love seat. I could easily imagine passing a warm summer evening there with Wiley, swinging back and forth, the smell of honeysuckle wafting through the air and the sound of crickets in the distance.

I set down my glass of tea, shook off what I recognized as a dangerous dream, and decided to get to work on the dishes. There wasn’t an apron in sight and despite my earlier teasing I felt reluctant to rummage through Wiley’s things. So I took great care as I first washed and dried the dishes, then prepared a cucumber and tomato salad.

I clipped some flowers from the front yard and placed them in a tall glass. As I removed the tarp from the kitchen table so that I could set it for dinner a hidden paintbrush dropped out of the mass of fabric, marring the skirt of my dress with a streak of yellow. I couldn’t believe it. I had spent so much time selecting just the right dress, and now it was ruined! Well, no sense crying over spilt milk as Momma would say. I swiftly tossed the tarp outside along with the one that cover the floor, then I dropped the brush into the kitchen sink and went in search of the bathroom.

I slipped out of my dress and turned on the cold water. The back of the sink was lined with a tube of toothpaste, a razor, and a can of shaving cream. I resisted the urge to open the medicine cabinet or peek behind the shower curtain. Instead, I used a bit of the hand-soap and a lot of water to attempt to wash away the stain. Momma was going to have a fit, plain and simple. The stain went from a small bright yellow smudge to something paler and the size of a dinner plate.

I left the dress to soak for a bit and went in search of something to wear. There were only two other rooms in the small house. The first one was empty, except for the dust. It was stiflingly hot inside and the space still smelled faintly of must. The second room held a big four-poster bed. It was covered in a quilt that I recognized as having been made by Wiley’s grandmother. I remembered the year that she won a prize for it at the county fair. She was so proud. The windows that looked onto the back yard were open and covered with sheer curtains. There was a nightstand on one side of the bed that held a small lamp and a large stack of books.

Even though I knew beyond any doubt that no one could see in through the curtains I was terribly self conscious of the fact that I was standing in the middle of Wiley’s bedroom wearing only my bra, panties, garters and stockings, and white leather pumps. If I had worn a slip like I’d been raised to do it wouldn’t have been so bad. Nice girls always wear slips, Momma says.

I opened Wiley’s closet and pulled a clean white dress-shirt off of the hanger. Right before closing the door, something on the floor of the closet caught my eye. I stared at it for a solid minute, then I closed the door and slipped on the shirt. The shirt covered just past the tops of the stocking, it wasn’t much shorter than the dresses most girls were wearing these days, really. I buttoned it up, rolled up the sleeves, and then sat on the edge of Wiley’s bed and just looked at the closed closet door. Temptation is an awful thing. It has a way of gnawing at you.

I slowly stood up and walked back over towards the closet, glancing in the direction of the window and then the hallway. Don’t ask me why, but when I reached the closet door I took extra care to open it quietly. Then, once again, I gazed down on what appeared to be a tall stack of magazines. There must have been nearly three-dozen and I’d never even seen one before.

I crouched down and lifted the top one off the stack. The July cover-girl was sitting on a beach blanket glancing back at me over one shoulder. Her dark wavy hair was loose and flowing and her eyes were perhaps the brightest and clearest blue I had ever seen. The top of her two-piece swimsuit was tossed carelessly on the blanket behind her. I never would have believed it if I hadn’t seen it with my own two eyes. Wiley Patton read
Playboy
.

I picked up the magazine and noticed at once a folded piece of paper, sticking up out of it like a bookmark. I held my breath and opened it up. It was marking a page that contained an article called
The Sensual ‘Letting Go’ Movement
. My eyes drifted once again to the hallway and my heart began to beat faster and faster. The paper that was marking the page had a handwritten note on it from Jared Montgomery. Jared was the same age as Wiley, they’d gone to school together, had been the best of friends in fact. Jared didn’t go to Vietnam. He’d gone to Baylor instead. He had one more year to go before he finished and was home for the summer. I’d seen him in church the Sunday before we left for the shore. He certainly hadn’t looked like someone who’d been harboring a stack of
Playboys
.

The note didn’t say much. Just that the magazines were a homecoming present and that his momma wanted Wiley to come to dinner on Sunday after church. I marveled for a moment at the sheer fact that Jared could write a note containing the words “momma” and “church” and then slip it between the pages of a
Playboy
magazine. Then I wondered where he’d gotten them. Certainly not at Baylor, they wouldn’t abide by that at all. It occurred to me that maybe Wiley just put them in his closet so as not to be tempted by them. He might not even have looked at them at all. Or, he could have been using Jared’s note as a marking place and been methodically going through each one, cover to cover…ending with Miss July 1969.

I stood up and walked over to the bed. I figured that Wiley wouldn’t be home for at least another hour and that was plenty long enough for me to read about ‘Letting Go’. There really wasn’t anyplace to sit in the house except at the kitchen table and I certainly wasn’t going to read a dirty magazine in the kitchen. So, I stretched out across Wiley’s bed face down with the magazine in front of me. I was facing the window, so the light was good. Just as I was about to read the first sentence I heard a long, drawn out whistle.

Quick as a flash I turned around, pulling my legs up underneath me, hiding the magazine behind my back and trying to pull down the shirt all at once. I couldn’t ever remember moving so fast in my life. Wiley was leaning up against the doorjamb with a huge smile on his face.

“You… You’re home early.”

“I would have come even sooner if I’d have known what was waiting for me,” he said as he walked into the room.

“I got paint on my dress. It’s soaking in the bathroom. I hope you don’t mind I had to borrow—”

“Mind? Do I mind coming home to find a beautiful woman stretched out across my bed wearing only stockings and… What else do you have on under there?” he asked stepping closer.

“Nothing,” I said quickly. Then I amended, “I mean the usual. I didn’t wear a slip today. It was so hot. Momma wouldn’t approve. She’s always going on about how nice girls… And, I’m a nice girl, Wiley. I don’t want you thinking—”

He sat down on the edge of the bed and silenced me with a soft kiss.

“I’m having a hard time thinking about anything other than how much I want you right now, June. That’s the plain truth. But, I don’t want to scare you, or rush you. And, I certainly don’t want to offend you. I’m going to go take a shower, a long, cold shower. Then we’ll have dinner. Okay?”

“Okay,” I agreed, still holding the magazine behind my back.

Wiley got up, went to his closet, pulled out some clean clothes, and then headed out the door. Just as he reached the threshold I worked up the courage to ask him.

“What’s the ‘Letting Go Movement’?”

“The what?” He turned around to face me, his expression convincingly confused.

I pulled the magazine out from behind my back and held it out for his inspection. “The ‘Letting Go Movement’. I’m assuming it’s something…sexual.”

Wiley’s eyes flitted over to his closet and than back towards the magazine that I was still holding up.

“Junebug! Are you looking at my
Playboys
?”

“I was curious. You don’t have to explain it, if it’s too embarrassing. Go take your shower. I’ll read up on it all on my own. Can you check on my dress?”

I turned my attention back towards the article, but didn’t get too far. Wiley walked over, sat down next to me and peered over my shoulder.

“Hmm. The truth is I don’t know, June. I’m not one of those guys that reads
Playboy
‘cause of the articles. I mostly look at the naked women.”

Wiley was sitting so close to me I could feel the heat radiating from his body.

“You don’t say.”

“It’s true, I’m afraid.”

“What would you think if I told you that I liked to look at pictures of naked men? What would you think then?”

“Where does a girl like you get pictures of naked men?”

“I
don’t
have a any pictures of naked men. I was asking what if.”

“You’re disapproving of the
Playboys
.”

I thought about it long and hard. I could tell that my silence was making Wiley uncomfortable. It wasn’t so much that I thought it was morally wrong. I know plenty of people would have. But the truth of it was I just didn’t like thinking about him looking at other girls in that way, in a sexual way. So I took a deep breath and told him as much.

“I don’t like the idea of you looking at other women that way, women who aren’t me. It’s like they’re getting to share something with you, some level of intimacy that I’m not. And I’ve yearned so much for it, Wiley. Am I crazy? Do we have a chance? Do
I
have a chance?”

Wiley took the magazine out of my hands and tossed it onto the floor at the foot of the bed. Then he got up and walked over to his closet. I watched him open the door, reach up, pull down an old shoebox and stare inside. He sighed. It was a heavy sigh and it filled me with a sense of foreboding.

“Wiley?”

He looked up and I saw that there were tears in his eyes. He came to me then, knelt before me, and handed me the stack of letters that had been in the box. They were all addressed to himself.

“No one has seen these, June. No one. These are the letters that I wrote but couldn’t send to you. I was too afraid. It’s all here, June. My thoughts. My fears. My feelings. And, specifically, how I feel about you. Do we have a chance? I sure as hell hope so, June.”

I reached out and accepted the letters. Then I leaned forward and for the first time in my life I initiated a kiss. I did it because I needed it and because Wiley needed it. The kiss started out slow and soft. I wrapped my arms around Wiley’s neck and pulled him towards me, parting my lips and opening my heart.

Wiley eased me back down onto the bed, his body covering mine. My legs parted for him. I felt his hand slide over the smooth silk of my stockings until he reached the top. Without so much as a bit of hesitation he release the snap on my garter. He began to massage the top of my bare thigh with his hand, his touch slow and sensual.

His tongue entered my mouth. He eased it in using, long, sure strokes that seemed to build, one on another. He slid one hand under my knee, lifted it slightly, and lowered his hips. I could feel him everywhere. Every inch of my body felt as if it were on fire. Wiley was hard, so noticeably hard. He began to rub his body against mine in a steady rhythm and without thought I began to do the same.

Wiley broke off the kiss with a suddenness that was startling. He was panting. His eyes were wide with surprise and I imagined that mine were too. He was still moving up against me. The buckle on his belt was pressing into the soft middle of my belly and the roughness of his jeans began to chafe my thighs. I slid my hand between us and reached for his belt.

“June?”

“I want to be closer to you. I want to feel you,” I gasped.

“We don’t have to do anything you’re not ready for. We can stop any time.”

“Yes. But—but not right now. I just… I want… I need…”

“What do you need, baby?” he asked me.

I couldn’t answer. Partly because I didn’t know and partly because at that very moment Wiley reached down and with the tips of his fingers he traced a path up and down on the outside of my panties.

“Does this feel good, June?”

I had never imagined just how painful pleasure could be. There I was, certain that if Wiley continued to touch me the way that he was that I would die. And yet, at the very same time, I was certain that if he stopped I would die. It was wrong. But it seemed so right. Wiley kissed my neck just then. He kissed that tender spot right behind my ear and as he did he pushed my panties aside and touched me, his skin to mine.

I felt like crying and laughing. There was this feeling deep inside, a pressure of sorts. My body was betraying me, and my mind,
Lord help me
, was cheering it on.
Just…let go.

Wiley pressed down harder with his thumb and then he slipped the tip of his finger right inside. All the while his hips were moving in time and his kisses rained down on my face, my neck, my lips. I felt as if I was about to burst. And I realized that Wiley must have been feeling that way too. He was trembling in my arms.